


why were you digging, what did you bury?

by swimthewholeriogrande



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:07:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimthewholeriogrande/pseuds/swimthewholeriogrande
Summary: Prison is what he knew as a cop, and at the same time utterly unknowable as a criminal.





	why were you digging, what did you bury?

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly canon-compliant, hope you enjoy!  
> Title from Like Real People Do by Hozier

It's more or less what he thought it would be like, but it also isn't. 

The mundane stuff is as expected; Jake's clothes are itchy and ugly and the food sucks, like, _really_ sucks. There's no privacy in the toilets or the showers or even his own cell, where Caleb chatters cheerfully and unprompted about his grisly past. He's bored and lonely and it's bad and it's what he thought. 

But there are other things he didn't think about. 

He's cold, all the time. He doesn't know if it's because the AC is always on, or because his itchy ugly clothes aren't warm enough, or because the prison is some kind of limbo-world that doesn't get any sun. He thinks it's more of a deeper issue - because the second that judge said guilty, and Rosa sat down heavily in her chair, his hands started shaking and didn't stop. 

And he's starting to develop all these habits - like biting his nails. He's never done that before, that'd always been his lovely anxious fidgety Amy, but now his fingers are bit down to the quick, red and raw. He thinks it's kind of gross, but there are worse habits, right? Like the drugs Romero traffics and takes and shoves into Jake's hands, smiling wolfishly at him, telling him not to be a little bitch. 

And he feels sick. He feels sick and cold and gross and there's white smears on his wrists from shoving the drugs in his pockets to flush down the toilet later. Jake always washes his hands after but they always stink of chemicals and he doesn't like touching Amy with them. They're not clean in any sense of the word. 

He can't decide what's more painful - the visiting days when the 99 can't make it, or the ones where they can and he has to watch them leave. Amy's always there, usually with Charles or Holt, and Jake appreciates it but he doesn't have the heart to tell them that he _burns_ for every second that they're there. He can't ever let go during the brief, monitored hugs - whoever else it is always has to push him gently. He's starved of contact, starved of conversation, starved and cold and sick and - 

It's terrifying, too. Jake knew that being a cop in jail, presumed dirty or not, wasn't going to be fun, but the pure hatred he encounters - even from the guards - was insanity. His first time walking into the cafeteria he was immediately confronted by some low-level drug pusher he arrested a year ago, aggressive and shouting. He looked around for a guard, but none of them seem too interested, so he took a step back and the maniac stabbed him with a fork. 

And it was, like, a blunt mental fork, so it didn't even break the skin of his arm. But it was scary and it reminded him that people actually have real weapons in here, and that scares him. 

Being in Romero's gang now affords him some sort of protection from stuff like that, but Jake's not so sure it's worth it. He feels like a sideshow attraction, like Romero's pet cop on a leash, just so he can show everyone how he's really and truly controlling the system. The thick cigarette smoke in the air is suffocating and has given him a nasty cough; Amy keeps asking if he has a chest infection. He never lies to her, but he can't tell her how bad it is in there - he just looks at the table and makes some joke about the bad food and then watches her leave, an unsatisfied ache in his stomach, feeling like he's further away from freedom with every step she takes. 

Jake used to be angry, but now he's tired. He's so tired. He never sleeps. When he does he dreams, and he never wanted to dream again. 

So when the guard comes and snatches him out from under Romero's hands, inches away from the shiv and the face of a murderer as his last sight - he's trying to remember a prayer his mom taught him and trying to visualise Amy's face - he doesn't understand. It has to be repeated to him at least five times that he's free to go, that he finally gets to walk out of the building. 

When he does, he gets straight into Amy's car, and he tells her truth - what he's become, how cold-sick-gross- _terrified_ he is now, and he's sure that she won't want him anymore, but she hugs him so tight and Jake doesn't have to let go. He's never letting go again. 

And she doesn't have to push him off, she doesn't have to walk away from him - and he'll never have to watch her go. He'll never have to shiver like that again. He's free. And it's finally warm.


End file.
